


Otterlock ficlet

by RebeccaOTool



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Gen, Hedgehog John, Hurt/Comfort, Johnhog, Otter Sherlock, Otterlock, Sickfic, johnlock if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:38:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebeccaOTool/pseuds/RebeccaOTool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets himself and John into a bit of trouble with his latest experiment. Not an AU where Sherlock and John have always been animals. Part of my ongoing quest to make silly things feasible with cannon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Otterlock ficlet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [legotheeggo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=legotheeggo).
  * Translation into English available: [【翻譯】水獺!Sherlock小短篇](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631347) by [ethor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethor/pseuds/ethor), [RebeccaOTool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebeccaOTool/pseuds/RebeccaOTool)
  * Inspired by [Otterlock 3 - Even Hedgehogs Get Colds](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/32078) by The-Ominous-Truffle. 



If John ever regained the ability to wrap his hands around Sherlock’s neck—

Strike that. He needed his HANDS back. Not these tiny paws. 

"It wasn’t supposed to do that." Sherlock huffed, claws clicking over the tiles.

"What was it SUPPOSED to do, Sherlock?" John demanded, quills rising along his back. "Because whatever it was SUPPOSED TO DO, IT SHOULDN’T HAVE BLOODY DONE THIS!"

Sherlock’s furry face actually looked surprised. “It was supposed to be a new type of scent masking cologne, according to the description at Baskerville.”

John squeezed his eyes shut, shutting out the gigantic room, his otter-fied friend, and the fact that he was scant centimeters high. Sherlock was at least three times his size. It wasn’t fair. ”You _can_ fix it?”

"I think so. But I’ll need access to my chemicals." Sherlock got on his hind legs, sniffing at the air. "I think I can get up there."

John eyed the table warily. It wasn’t very clear. Hadn’t he read that hedgehogs had poor eyesight? “I can’t get up there.”

"It’s just as well. With your size, you wouldn’t be much help." Sherlock said dismissively. He scaled the couch easily, already accustomed to his new body. John squinted, but lost him amid the shifting colors.

He left out a huff. Sherlock could be at it for hours. And he was hungry.

A thought occurred to John. He’d been rummaging in the fridge in the middle of his transformation. The door might still be open. Maybe he could get at something.

He waddled into the kitchen, feeling like a prat. A few scraps of cloth were still stuck to his quills. He’d fought his way out of his own shirt. Sherlock had had to help him, actually.

Finally, the towering monolith of the fridge made it into sight. John could see a bit of light. He had left the fridge open. Thank God.

And the smells! He sniffed quickly. There was meat, lettuce, and—

JAM.

Strawberry jam! There was a jar on the bottom shelf! He could probably reach it, too. He put his front paws onto the lip of the cool white fridge interior. The Jam was scant centimeters away. He scrabbled at the smooth surface, and managed to get into the fridge. Success!

The jar was taller than he was (nearly _everything_ was), but not very much so. He was able to nudge it over. Then he set to work on the lid. He nipped at it, and tugged at it, oblivious to the rest of the world. It was a little cold, but it kept his mind off his ridiculous predicament.

Finally the lid rolled aside and John all but dove into the jam. He licked at it, practically burying his face in the jar. The sweet taste of strawberries soothed him. He began to calm down. Sherlock would figure this out and get them back to normal. It was going to be fine. It—

Suddenly there was a resounding CLICK and everything went dark. The fridge door had shut.

0o0o0

Sherlock growled in frustration. He didn’t have thumbs, and his whiskers were getting in the way, and his tail was tripping him up, and—

He rubbed his furry face, trying not to get angry. It wasn’t easy; this was _intolerable_. Why hadn’t John stopped him before it’d gone too far?

John. Where was John? He hadn’t heard the tiny little grumble of his companion for some time now.

"John?" He called out, looking over the flat. There was no sign of John.

A flutter of panic hit Sherlock in the stomach. John was much smaller than he was, and he didn’t have Sherlock’s dexterity or speed. He could easily have gotten into trouble. “John!”

Sherlock scampered off the table, sniffing. He could smell John’s scent (he’d taken the time to memorize it, of course), but it was at least two hours old. He nosed along the floor, racing after the smell. Where had John gone for two hours? Had he gone into his room, or fallen asleep? “JOHN!”

Something caught his ear. A tiny cry at the edge of his hearing. “John?”

There it was again. Not even a name, just a wordless cry of panic. Sherlock’s eyes widened in horror. The _fridge_. It was coming from the _fridge_!

"John! John, I’m coming, hang on!" He raced in front of the monolith, panicking. John had gone in, probably for a snack, and now he was trapped inside. How the hell was he supposed to open the door? It was bigger than the whole building was when they were human, it was impossible it—

'Stop!' He forced himself to stop running. He stared at the fridge, mind racing. 'Think. There must be a way to open it.'

The handle was high above his head. He didn’t have the strength to open it, even if he could reach the handle. The magnetic strip holding the door to the fridge looked well-hooked—

No, there was a tiny tear in the strip. Maybe he could tug it free and open the fridge. He dug at it, paws tearing the stuff apart. He managed to pull a bit free. He clamped onto it with his teeth, and pulled back as hard as he could.

John’s panicked cries had stopped. Did he realize Sherlock had heard? Or had his air run out? Or had the cold—

No. John _wasn’t dead_.

Sherlock growled and pulled the strip harder. He’d rip the bloody fridge apart with his claws. John would be fine. John—

The door finally creaked open. Sherlock darted forwards, squeezing his slim body into the freezing box. “John!”

A pained whimper met his ears. He spotted a tiny spiked form huddled in the far corner, shivering. Sherlock grabbed for him, and yanked his paw back, hissing. Quills. He’d forgotten.

"John!" He nosed around, finding a heartbeat, and warm breath. "John, get up, we have to get out of here."

"Sh-Sherlock?" John’s voice was trembling. He blinked in confusion. 

"You’ve nearly got hypothermia. You have to get out of the cold." Sherlock nudged him harder, wincing as the quills jabbed his face. "Come."

Finally, John waddled forwards, confused and protesting. He balked at the the edge, unable to see the floor. Sherlock helped him down, biting down on cries of pain. 

And then they were out on the (relatively) warm kitchen floor.

John was curled up in a spiky ball, whimpering and shivering. “C-c-cold.”

"I’m not surprised. You were in there for hours." Sherlock nosed around him, trying to find an unspiked spot to share body heat. Nothing presented itself. "I’ll be right back."

He scurried into the living room. He had to get a blanket, a rag, _anything_. Everything was much too big, he couldn’t—

And there was his scarf, still entangled in his clothing. ‘Yes!’

He snatched it and raced into the kitchen. “John! John, I have the scarf!”

John didn’t reply, but his shivering was more violent. Sherlock swallowed hard. He had to get John warm NOW.

He wrapped the small hedgehog in the scarf and stood on his back legs. John whimpered and, without opening his eyes, nuzzled his cold nose into Sherlock’s thick fur.

 

Sherlock watched him closely. The shivers began to subside and the whimpers faded. “I am sorry I didn’t notice your absence sooner.”

John made no reply. He’d fallen asleep in Sherlock’s paws.

Sighing, Sherlock made his way awkwardly into the living room on his back legs. He set John down into his discarded clothes and wrapped around him, the scarf protecting him from the worst of the spikes. He’d need John’s help to get them back to normal. But it could wait.

For now, letting John nap was the best plan of action. Sherlock closed his eyes, sighing. He carefully slipped his paw into John’s. After that, he quickly fell asleep.

It was…nice.

0o0o0o0o0

Fin. Although I may do more, if the mood strikes.


End file.
